Amour
by Miss Kwon
Summary: Yes, Francis definitely agreed. This was a great way of spending a spring afternoon in Paris. .:France/America:. .:One-shot:.


Disclaimer: Hetalia does not belong to me. That's obvious.

* * *

"Ok, ok, where do I start?"

"In the beginning, of course."

Someone snorts.

"You've read this about a thousand times."

"I don't mind reading it again."

Sigh.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Another sigh.

"Alfred, it's a beautiful spring afternoon in Paris and _this _is what you want to do?"

"Do you have any other suggestion?"

"Of course I do! We could..."

"Except for that."

"You don't know what I was going to say."

"I know you well enough to know what you were going to suggest."

"It's a beautiful, _beautiful _spring afternoon in Paris, city of lights, sun, flowers, and you want to stay inside the house?"

"Precisely."

"But..."

"Shut the hell up and just read it already."

"_Mon amour, _if I shut up..."

"Read it."

Francis couldn't help a giggle over the American's irritation. He turned the volume of Alfred's cellphone down until classical music was just background, to make it easier to read it out loud.

_"Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita."_

Francis smiled slightly while he read each line of that piece. Alfred had closed his eyes while he listened to the French's voice reciting the words that he had memorized a long time ago, but definitely they sounded much better when the French was pronouncing them. Francis held the book with one hand, running the other through Alfred's blond hair, who was laying his head on the man's lap and seemed much more calm than a few hours ago.

Francis was so used to that book some parts were engraved in his mind. He smiled again. He wasn't so fond of that book as Alfred was, and Francis couldn't exactly explain the reason why of so much love for a book. According to Alfred, when he asked him for the first time, "the aesthetic beauty of the narrative, poetry in descriptions, complex plot, characters and their thoughts... This book is amazing, Francis!", but still, he didn't like so much that work in particular.

He could see its beauty, though. He had read it to the American so many times he was starting to get a little tired of it. But he couldn't deny that he just loved it when the younger man dragged him to the couch, handed him the book and asked him to read it out loud.

Alfred got up abruptly, pulling the French closer and kissing him slightly on the lips. Francis blinked, confused, since usually he's the one who takes initiative.

"I know you are the country of love, but I have to be a little cliché now."

"Please."

"Yes."

"Really cliché, _Amérique_. I'm truly impressed."

Alfred rolled his eyes, slapping the French.

"It's the answer for your question."

"Which one? _Mon Dieu_, Alfred, be more specific."

"When you asked me if this was what I wanted to do in a hot spring afternoon in Paris. I am with you, listening to you, close to you. No conflicts, differences, wars, politics. Just a normal day with you. Yes. That's what I like to do in a spring afternoon."

The American spoke in just one breath, and when he was finished, he took some time to fully recover, a shade of scarlet red coloring his cheeks. Definitely, Francis was used to speak things like this all the time, but he wasn't. Alfred looked down to his hands, regreting every word when he heard the other man's laughter.

"Is this your way of being romantic?" Francis had a fun smile on his lips, loving the American's embarassed reaction.

"Idiot."

Francis chuckled, getting closer to the younger man and kissing him softly, feeling when he answered the kiss shyly. And now, Francis's smile wasn't ironic, annoying or teasing. To Alfred, it was sincere.

"Je t'aime."

Alfred blushed when he tried to speak in the other's language, who smiled bigger and hugged him.

Yes, Francis definitely agreed. This was a great way of spending a spring afternoon in Paris.

"I love you too."

* * *

Author's note: I just would like to say I'm sorry to the fandom for writing things like this. I shouldn't try, especially in English, sorry. If there's any mistake, please tell me so I can fix it. There's no real plot, just FrUs fluff stuff because there isn't enough of FrUs in this fandom. The part in italic is from Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov's book, because it was the first to pass through my mind. As a response to the review that I can't reply directly, here it is: it's a headcanon of mine that they like this book because it's beautifully written and its complexity is interesting. Personally, his relationship with her was disgusting and disturbing, but the book is still good. Now that I stop to think about it, I think I should have put other part of other book in this, oh well, but still. It's an interesting book and, in my headcanon, that's why they like it, though they think that H.H's relationship with Dolores was horrible. Sorry if I offended anyone with this. Really sorry.


End file.
